


something borrowed

by peachyteabuck



Category: Black Widow - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom Natasha Romanoff, Dom/sub Play, F/F, F/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Strap-Ons, Sub Bucky Barnes, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism, nose hook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 14:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17225957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyteabuck/pseuds/peachyteabuck
Summary: bucky, single and desperate to be topped, asks to be dommed by you. desperate for a break from your stressful job, you agree.





	something borrowed

“He just wants to…watch?” You ask, staring into the darkness of you room. You’re on your back, hands folded neatly on your stomach. Not looking away from your girlfriend nor directly at her; the perfectly neutral zone.

You can feel Natasha shrug next you, tone nonchalant, _bored_ even.  She’s dealt with weirder things than this _not_ including sexual stuff, so of course this hasn’t fazed her. Still, you’d like her to show _some_ form of emotion, even if it isn’t shock. Interest, maybe? Maybe you’re just looking for interest.  “Yeah. I mean, trust me, he wants to do more stuff, but to start off his just wants to like…watch you in the shower.”

“You think Bucky wants _more_ than that?” You’re not one to half-ass anything ( _especially_ strange sex shit), so if you’re doing this, you want to go all in. Why feel sort of uncomfortable when you can feel totally uncomfortable – that’s your life motto.

Natasha hesitates. At first you think it’s because she’s surprised at your non-rejection. Then, though, you hear her nails clack against her cracked phone screen. She’s either texting someone or playing mindless game; either way, not all her attention is on your conversation. “He’s a fuckin’ bottom. Like, _full-on_ sub. He wants to help you get dressed and kneel down in front of you and all that shit.”

 _But what does “all that shit” entail?_ “So, like a slave?”

“That language is questionable at best and problematic at worst-“Natasha curses as her phone vibrates angrily. She’s _definitely_ playing a game. “But yeah, yeah you get it. Kissin’ up your legs, footstool, undress you at night type stuff.”

Your brow crinkles, perplexed. “And why doesn’t he do that with you? Why did he ask _you_ to ask _me_?”

Your girlfriend huffs out a laugh, humored by your silly questions. “Because he knows I’m not that kind of domme, and you are.”

 _Fair_. Natasha’s more in-your-face, loud, brash, bold. Whenever people think of the archetypes of femdoms, they think of her: patent leather, fire red hair with an attitude and mouth to match. On the other hand, you’re more lenient, lowkey; probably what Bucky wants if he’s _not_ hoping to be beaten within an inch of his life along with being edged for hours on end.

It takes a small push from Natasha ( _get out of your comfort zone!_ She tells you. _I know you miss topping, just do it for a friend and get it out of your system)_ but you eventually agree. You acquiesce to allow Bucky to follow you around like an overeager schoolboy for twenty-four hours, and to do whatever the Hell his heart and dick desire.

In a written contract formulated with a little under-the-table cash to part of the legal team, you and Bucky sign off on safe words, hard and soft limits, and all the other basics one covers when one is a responsible adult who engages in responsible dom/sub dynamics.

Terms and conditioned agreed to, Natasha writes in that the contract’s guidelines will begin at midnight.

“Wait,” you stop her from signing as the witness. “What is he going to sleep on _before_ midnight?”

Bucky looks around the room, assassin eyes scanning for anything that could fit his hulking body. “I could sleep on the rug that’s near the bed.”

Natasha turns to you, looking for any signs of regret or dismay. She finds none, just surprise and a hint of excitement. “You good with that?”

She starts signing before you respond. Your relaxed expression is enough to tell her everything she needs to know.

The following day was one where you worked from home, crunching the numbers while Natasha found herself stuck in endless meetings about this humanitarian crisis and that political scandal (when she found herself part of the PR department, she couldn’t tell you). Somehow your partner not being there made it harder to wake up in the large bed, the unusual emptiness troubling. Would you be able to domme without her strict instruction? Turning over, you watch Bucky as he sleeps, curled up on the floor. Maybe you’re just insecure, being as it’s been…what, three years since you’ve topped? You’d fallen into a happy sexual dynamic with Natasha, one where you did exactly what she asked and took exactly what she gave you.

Now, though, _you_ had to do the thinking.

With a deep, silent breath, you nudged Bucky awake with your bare foot. “Good morning, princess. Come help me shower.”

Bucky wakes immediately, body unfurling like a well-built machine coming to life after being turned off for maintenance. Easily, almost subconsciously, he follows you into the expansive bathroom, falling to his knees with his back erect and palms resting on his thighs.

You’re impressed, to say the least. “ _Good boy_ ,” you praise, an obvious shiver running down his spine. “When I say so, come undress me. Then put the clothes in the bin back in the bedroom.” You pause, waiting for him to move without instruction. He doesn’t. “Go ahead.”

Your shirt goes first, dropping to the ground. They’re joining by your old sweatpants shortly thereafter. Bucky makes no move you don’t approve of. Doesn’t caress your hips without permission, doesn’t kiss the back of your neck without asking. His perfect obedience is comforting, allowing you to boss him around with ease.

Once the dirty clothes have found their proper place, Bucky resumes his place on the mat and you start the shower. The glass door closes, adding a physical barrier between you and your sub while also making you feel more exposed. Your hands shake slightly as you exfoliate, shave, wash your face. It’s stopped by the time you step out, hands easily opening the door to reveal water dripping down your naked form and the steam that was making it so hard to breathe dissipating into the rest of the room.

“Towel,” is all you say, gesturing vaguely to the closet to your right. Bucky picks a fluffy grey one, used enough to indicate favoritism but freshly cleaned and folded to show prestige. He waits for more, breath shaky and eyes wide with desire. “Dry me.” He obeys, going from the nape of your neck down to your shoulders and arms, then your hips and legs. “Just drop the towel on the ground, you can deal with it later.” He does. Soon enough, you two form a dance whose energy flows easily between the two of you. Assuming no one who didn’t know of the arrangement would be seeing you, you have him dress you in just cotton panties and a large shirt from Nat’s closet.

You two fall into a comfortable silence as you open your email and Google calendar, writing down everything that needs to be done and all the crises that have to be dealt with. You’re surprised you have so much to do in the off-season, but then again, every single one of your clients is already looking at drafts, possible greats, all that jazz. Despite popular belief, being a sports statistician is a year-round stress fest – your hair constantly on end and muscle always tense. _“Take the job,”_ they said. _“Being a woman in sports_ and _STEM would be both unprecedented and super cool,”_ they said.

They were right about the first part. The second part…not so much.

It’s about an hour later when you realize you never ate breakfast, stomach growling and vision blurry and typo-per-minute rate increasing dramatically with every calculation.

“Princess,” you mumble.

Bucky perks up a little from his spot to your right. “Yes, Mistress?”

You don’t look away from your laptop screen as you speak, brain trying to read an email from a colleague and talk at the same time. “Please get me a bowl of fruit from the kitchen with a fork, please.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Have you eaten?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Then get yourself something to eat, too.”

“Okay, Mistress.”

You don’t turn back to watch him leave, too focused on whatever the fuck someone who obvious never took a stats class in college is trying to tell you about incorrect calculations you did when you first started out as a statistician. As in, two months fresh out of undergrad with a blog and approximately zero experience in hockey (men in general? Very insecure. Men in STEM? A billion times worse).  

What the hell is this guy’s problem, anyway? So you didn’t correct identify some outliers _one time_ in an article you _weren’t paid for_ that you wrote about a _local high school women’s hockey team_. This does _not_ mean you should be demoted and/or fired, _neither_ does it mean that you shouldn’t be taken serio-

The sound of the ceramic bowl, granola bar, and apple hitting the desk makes you jump. “ _Jesus_ ,” you hiss.

“My apologies, Mistress,” Bucky professes. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

You shake your head, moving to stab  a piece of watermelon with the perfectly cleaned utensil. “Don’t worry, baby. Just…” you sigh and take another look at your lengthy response. “Distracted.”

Bucky looks concerned as he sinks back to the ground. “Anything I can help you with?”

One of your eyebrows lifts, brain now intrigued rather than enraged. Still, you don’t meet his hungry gaze. “What do you suggest?”

Bucky doesn’t speak for a moment, only able to stutter out a few sounds before coughing. _Who’s confident, now?_

“I could, uh,” he clears his throat. “I could message your shoulders, or give you a foot rub, or-“

You sigh deeply as more notifications flash across your screen. “How about I ride your face?”

Bucky words are quick, short. Not forced, more…caught off guard. “I’m okay with that.”

It’s then you realize he _still_ hasn’t eaten. “Let me feed you first, then I’ll ride your face.”

Bucky looks _more_ eager now, easily accepting pieces of the granola bar from your hand and licking the melting bits of chocolate from your fingers. You snort, tracing your spit-covered thumb across his bottom lip. “You’re really somethin’, aren’t ya?”

Bucky just smiles.

“Do you want the apple, too?”

Bucky nods eagerly, struggling to keeps his hands on his thighs from the anticipation. You hold the fruit with your thumb and middle finger along the axis, gripping it as tightly as possible. The first bite is the toughest, Bucky’s neck straining and your wrist at an awkward angle. It gets easier from there, his perfect teeth taking chunks that cause the juices to drip down his chin and onto his dark tank top. Though the color of the fabric should hide the stain, the trail of wetness is an obvious path from his shit-eating grin to his grey pajama pants. _God, it would have been easier if you had made him strip before any of this started._

Soon the red flesh has given way to browning core, nourishment gone with the remnants ready to be thrown into the nearest trash can. Formalities have now also left, as you command Bucky to move with just the jerk of your head and an angry flick of the wrist. He slides onto the bed easily, moving the disheveled covers around to reveal an expansive part of the dark grey sheets. You nearly growl as you situate yourself, pinning his greedy hands to the bed by his wrists. _“Move and I’ll tie these down_ ,” you hiss. The metal one twitches, instinct to disobey in order to get his way acting faster than the part of his brain that wants to behave, be good for you. You notice and pull back to grab at his jaw and snarl in his ear. “Is that what you want _, Princess_? Do you want me to twist you into some toy and use you until you’re so hard you’re crying?”

Bucky’s eyes plead, looking from your barred teeth to the closet where he knows you keep all the tools of the trade.

You sit up a little, his chest now barring your weight. The hand once on his jaw moves back before skin meets skin in an all-too-quiet _smack_. It’s not as hard as he wants it, not nearly, but this is also just a warning. Some rite of passage to get what he wants.

“ _Answer me_.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Another _smack_ , this time a little louder. Bucky moans, all throaty and gorgeous and eyes scrunched shut. “ _’Yes Mistress,_ ” you fake-mock, voice high-pitched and lips curled back. “You can do better than that.” Bucky swallows, almost buying himself time to savor the moment. You pull your hand back again in warning, higher this time. Where before it didn’t go past your elbow, now your arm extends well behind your head. _“Now.”_

“Mistress please tie me up and use me and don’t let me cum and beat me until I’m crying and make me get you off until you say stop.”

You snicker, hand reaching down to cover his throat. The pads of your fingers and thumb squeeze together, another wave arousal flooding Bucky’s face. “Is that it?”

“I want everything you’re willing to give me, Mistress.”

Your grin spreads from ear to ear as you saunter from the bed to the box hidden behind fancy dresses and pants suits and faux-fur coats. You toss what you plan on using behind you onto the bed. Bucky doesn’t move, aiming to please, but does occasionally turn his head to see an assortment of dusty pink rope with matching vibrators and a cockring and a ball gag and other things that begin to make him drool.

You return topless, twirling the flogger in the air. “You know,” you muse as you point to the floor, directing him into position for the rope. “Natasha bought all of this in black, Every. Single. Thing.” You roll your eyes at the memory. “Said it matched her aesthetic. Gold accents, too.”

“You weren’t complaining about the doubles when I had you begging less than two days ago,” Natasha’s distinct sardonic tone pulls you away from Bucky’s excited form for a moment, but not much longer. If she wants to witness that’s fine, but you will not be distracted from the man in front of you. She certainly won’t tear your eyes or attention away long enough to ask why she isn’t in her three o’clock UN video conference. You don’t speak as you kick Bucky to the ground and tie his arms behind his back. You don’t acknowledge her leaning against your desk when you fit the collar and nose hook. You don’t cut back at her snide remarks about how long the prep is taking you as you clip the leash onto the D-ring below his Adam’s apple.

The only time you allow your eyes to lock is when you lean against the bed, _you and Natasha’s bed_ , and wrap the pink leather around your wrist. Bucky allows himself to be pulled closer to you, burrowing his face into your panties.

“What do good boys do?” You purr, still watching Natasha like a hawk watches her prey.

“Please let me eat you out, Mistress. Please let me make you cum,” Bucky whines, hot breath fanning across your mound.

Natasha smirks, as if she doesn’t think you’ll go through with it. _You’re_ the cute little bottom-leaning verse she picked up in a sleazy club and never go. _You’re_ the brat who needs to be put in your  place when your ego gets larger than you can handle. _She’s_ the one who does shit like this, taking in desperate little whores for short periods of time before spitting them back out, sated despite their immoral indulgences.  You’re a sweet little statistician, easily turned into a mewling sub the minute Natasha tells you to _behave_ or _silent_ or calls you _good girl_. This animalistic, carnal side of you is new.

Not bad, not good, just new. Still, Natasha doubts new. New means unexperienced, new means unsure.

As she watches you shed your panties and lay back, skin ablaze with desire and hand wrapped in Bucky’s hair, she sees nothing one would describe as “new.” Your body doesn’t move as if each open-mouthed kiss is uncharted territory, you don’t sob each time Bucky runs his tongue up and down your pussy. Bottom lip pulled between her teeth, Natasha watches you in pure fascination as praises slip from your throat.

“Ah _yes_ princess, right there, baby,” you voice dripping with pleasure. “Fuck _yes_!”

The first time you cum is sudden, thighs suffocating Bucky as you cry out. Your heels dig into his back, sometimes bumping into his clenched fists. He doesn’t stop until pull at the leather of the nose hook, his neck bending to avoid too much pain.

“What a good boy you are,” you pant, running through the mixture of your juices and his spit on his chin. “ _Such_ a good little boy.”

Bucky grins with hooded eyes. “Mistress,” he mumbles.

You smooth away the hair stuck to his forehead, cooing. “What, baby?”

“Please fuck me.”

Natasha almost chokes on nothing, and almost stops breathing entirely when you tell him, “Of course, princess.”

“Wait,” she says, already slipping out of her business casual sweater and skirt. “I want to join.”

You can hear Bucky moan as you smirk. “Of course. Do you want to peg him or should I?”

She swallows, reaching behind her and finding the lubricant in your desk from muscle memory alone. Nat throws it and you easily catch it before dropping it on the bed. “You do the honors,” she says. “I’ll just take the glory.”

Bucky easily climbs on the bed as he waits, burrowing his face into the covers and sticking his ass up in the air. You’re out of practice with the harness, as it takes you enough time both for Natasha to strip the rest of her clothes off and position herself under Bucky’s mouth. He’s already started teasing her (as if she isn’t already dripping onto the sheets) when you begin coating your fingers in the lube. The first finger goes in easily, with just a jolt from Bucky. His hands flex before balling themselves back into fists, white knuckling it through fingers two and three meet the same minimal resistance. Both you and Natasha coo and assure him whenever he whines, or his eyes scrunch shut.

“You ready, baby?” You ask, running your hands up and down his sides.

He nods, gasping against Nat’s inner thighs. “Yes, Mistress.”

You ease into him slowly, stopping to let him breathe and adjust. When he nods to Nat she tells you to continue. Soon you’re easily fucking in and out of him and he’s returning to slipping his tongue in and out of your girlfriend’s pussy. With each thrust he’s pushed closer to Nat, each involuntary point of contact causing her to cry out in pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m gonna-!” she wails, Bucky’s hair a tourniquet in her hands.

You loom over Bucky, one hand moving from his hip to grab at the base of his cock. “You wanna cum, baby? You wanna cum with my pretty little girlfriend?”

“Yes!” he screams. “Yes please Mistress, _please_ let me cum!”

“I’m gonna count down from ten, and when I get to one I want you to cum, okay?”

Natasha doesn’t say anything, too focused on rolling her hips against Bucky’s face. When he doesn’t respond, you slap his ass as hard as you can, the flesh heating and reddening under your touch.

“Yes, Mistress,” he gasps. “Yes, I will cum when you count down to one!”

You start jerking Bucky’s dick slowly from balls to tip and back down again. “Ten.”

One of Natasha’s hands goes to grasp at the bedsheets, a tell-tale sign she’s close. “Nine.”

Bucky moans so loudly you can feel it when your hand slips and hits him in the ribs. “Eight.”

Your abdomen feels sore, the muscles not used to this. “Seven.”

Natasha is usually the one doing the fucking, evident by her defined abs that contract as she cries out. “Six.”

Across the room, you hear the all-too-familiar ringtone of Steve calling Natasha. “Five.”

It’s probably important, but not Earth-threatening enough for him to call her over the building-wide intercom. “Four.”

You don’t think Nat notices, and you don’t draw her attention to it. “Three.”

Bucky’s cock jerking in your hand brings you back. “Two.”

You jerk him harder, faster. The other hand goes to claw at his back. Bucky moans at the moan and you can feel his balls tighten. “ _One.”_

Natasha’s a screamer, her own wails almost drowning out Bucky’s rough grunts. You’re quick to collect him cum and crawl next to him, shoving your fingers into his gaping mouth. He greedily sucks, eyes shut and body crumpling onto the bed. Even in her post-orgasmic bliss, Nat moves to carefully undo the collar and nose hook. When the harness drops to the floor, you work on untying him.

As the high fades away, you fall onto the bed, narrowly avoiding your comrades. You wrap yourself around Bucky, Natasha choosing to rest her head on his chest.

“You know,” she mumbles in a voice thick with sleep. “there’s a lot of cleanup we need to do.”

Eyes closed, you shrug as you pet the side of Bucky’s face and trace the indents from the sheets. “Yeah, but I’m _super_ comfy…so…”

Nat snorts, and pulls a comforter over the cuddle pile that had formed “Fair, but you’re the one who’s going to do the laundry if we wait.”

She never gets a response, as you had quickly fallen asleep. _Whatever_ , she thinks. _We can make Bucky do it._

**Author's Note:**

> don't forget to follow me on tumblr! @ peachyteabuck.tumblr.com


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